


Satisfied

by PaladinGabe



Series: Drunk On The Moon [3]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alcohol, Author gets real geeky about filmmaking, Comedy, Film, Gen, POV First Person, Robert's pov, movie theater, pineapple on pizza disourse kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 20:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaladinGabe/pseuds/PaladinGabe
Summary: The adventure continues as Robert takes his friend out for Hawaiian pizza, and they drunkenly watch a movie together with a bunch of punk kids.Basically, the movie theater scene in Robert's Point of View.





	Satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> PART TWO of Robert's first date! AKA: the past film student ass in me gets to GEEK OUT.
> 
> This one's a little more... wholesome?? They're still drunk, but it's not as sad. Don't get used to me being less angsty lmao
> 
> If you haven't already, check out [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/wanderingtiff/playlist/6xCW7xRlk8boCLNzTZ4RfK), for all your Classic Rock and Tom Waits needs! I don't think I'll ever stop promoting it! It's my pride and joy. [[actually I may stop promoting it after the next update ahaha]]
> 
> [Context: I had a horrible day at work when I wrote this, and I added a lot more comedic elements than I intended to. Self-indulgently trying to ease my mental anguish with some laughs and wholesome entertainment. Even if in this story a teenager tries to hurt an old man.]

_I quickly follow him into an_ alley nearby, and it takes me a while to realize where exactly we are. Alcohol on the brain, and all. We both struggle for air, and this poor bastard looks like he’s committed murder. I almost feel bad.

“Maybe we should strike rock throwing from the to-do list,” I chuckle while panting.

“Agreed,” he laughs out.

We stay in the middle of the alley while catching our breaths. I can hear his stomach growling from where I’m standing, and that just reminds me of how hungry I am. Did I even eat at all today? The hell if I know.

“Let’s get some pizza,” I offer. There are plenty of places around here. None of it is as good as the pizza back in Brooklyn, but I’ve gotten used to the acquired taste quality they have.

He nods blearily. “I can’t argue with that. Where’s a place that’s good around here? Actually,” he pauses for another gulp of air, “I don’t even care if it’s good. It just needs to be edible and in my mouth within the next five minutes.”

My brow quirks up as one place within a minute’s walking distance comes to mind. “I know just the place.”

I take him to “Pete’s Piece a’ Pizza.” I’m sure he’ll appreciate the pun, even if we both decide not to comment on it. We show up at the joint, the red neon lights glowing and casting its sheen over our heads.

“Ta da,” I grin.

He shakes his head while he’s laughing at me. I’m sure that I’ve lost at least fifty badass points. While hiding the flush I’m well aware of growing on my cheeks, I clear my throat as the cashier comes up to the counter to take our order.

“Hey, there. Can I get two slices of Hawaiian pizza? Oh, wait.” A thought occurs to me as I turn my head to my companion. “You’re cool with pineapple on your pizza, right?”

Ah, the classic debate. I’ve lost so many friends to this. Nobody appreciates the contrast between the delectable fruit and the satisfying combination of dough, sauce, and gooey cheese. But I like that this is a deal breaker for most people. It’s a way to weed out the weak.

“Of course,” he grins.

Thank god.

It’s only a couple moments’ wait on the pizza slices, and I’m starting to really feel my unintentional starvation rear its ugly head. I’m a lot hungrier than I thought, even with this guy practically salivating. When we finally get our plates, I hold mine carefully in my free hand while we walk away from the pizza joint.

We both eat our food together while walking back the way we came through the alleyways. The plate is so saturated, but it doesn’t ruin my eating experience in the least bit. It tastes like heaven.

“Pineapple is truly the best pizza topping,” he mumbles in between mouthfuls.

What a kiss ass. I love it. I grin while nodding. “You said it.”

We take our time while walking, probably because he’s still stumbling and I don’t want him to drop that fairly expensive bottle of wine. It’s nice, though. We’re both quiet, for the most part, and I take in the night air from underneath the street lamps.

He sighs while he’s finishing his plate, and I turn my gaze to him while we go to a dumpster within the latest section of the alleyway maze. We throw the soggy plates away, and I make an attempt to clean my greasy hand by rubbing it against my jeans. It makes this poor bastard grimace, and I’m sure that I just rolled my eyes.

“Man,” he hums, “I feel way better now.”

“You and me both.”

My attention starts to turn to the White Zinfandel bottle in my hand when I hear noises coming from the next building over. It stirs my curiosity, and I’m pretty sure I know what this place is. The door leading to it is slightly ajar. Anyone could just walk right in. I can’t help the impulse to check it out.

I turn to him once more and start to take his hand. “Got any more of that wild in ya?”

There’s a slight moment of hesitation, but he gives me an eager nod and an enthusiastic grin. “You betcha!”

“Let’s go!” My voice isn’t as hushed as I’d hoped it would be, but I’m just too excited.

We have to ease the door open a little more to walk in, but it’s not that much trouble to do so. There’s a flickering light off to the side, but we’re both careful. Now I’m getting an idea of where we are. My assumptions were correct: It’s the movie theater. I lean in to shush my friend in advance while moving closer to where I know is a column of seats.

“Don’t shush me so loud!”

He’s a bit too loud for my taste, so I shush him again as I observe the screen. It looks like some mediocre, modern romantic comedy is playing. My absolute favorite type of film to rip apart.

“Did we really just sneak into a movie theater like a couple of teenagers?”

I gasp and rush to move my index finger to his lips. “No talking during the movie!”

There’s a bunch of hoodlum looking teenagers sitting among the first couple rows, and they give us an annoyed look. It doesn’t bother me much. What are a bunch of kids going to do?

I take my friend over to the back row. It’s among my favorite spots in the theater. I can see everything, and since I’m up so high compared to the front rows, there’s less likely of a chance that I’d get an obstructed view of some obnoxiously, inhumanly tall beanstalk in front of me during my film experience. The two of us get situated, and I’m relaxing with my feet propped up against the top of the seat in front of me while guzzling my wine.

I’ve seen shit like this hundreds of times before. I don’t understand why people would waste their money on seeing the same movie over and over again, but I’m sure all the people underneath the big companies, directors, and producers worked very hard on trying to tell this story.

We’re following a guy that is either trying to redeem himself to a girlfriend I’ve yet to see, or he just realized that he loves a girl that he has very little time to gain a courtship with. As the minutes pass, I put together some missing pieces to the puzzle and realize that it’s more or less the latter. He’s rushing through New York to find this woman.

It moves to a shot where the man plops down in the back seat of a taxi cab. I feel more chemistry between the driver and the man than I do with the actual love interest of the movie. The way the cab driver has to divert his eyes when glancing at the rearview mirror is enough unrequited tension to cut through steel. It’s enough to make me wanna scream. And so, I do.

“Just _kiss already!_ ”

My sudden cry makes my friend jump. “There’s nobody to kiss yet,” he chuckles in a hushed tone. “You want him to kiss the taxi driver?”

I purse my lips as I watch the scene unfold. The driver is still looking at him with this hard stare. I’ve never seen this film before, but I have a strong feeling that without context, it looks like the driver has been crazy about him for so long. That’s some good emotion from that mostly silent actor. He should get an Emmy.

“…Hell yeah,” I murmur.

“Hey man, keep it down.” One of the teenagers from up front tries to interrupt us, and I just roll my eyes.

My companion over here’s got other ideas. He gets up to his feet and obnoxiously waves for his attention. “Ernest! Hey, Ernest! I know you! It’s me! Your neighbor! Hi!”

I watch Hugo’s little punk slump back down in his seat, and I hold back my snickering as the driver now has taken the main lead to the island. His love interest is waiting for him by the water with this dull expression on her face. Is she supposed to be in love with him, or does she want to kill him while he’s got her in his embrace?

Actually… that’s an incredible idea. She could stab him in the stomach and take his implausible winning jackpot receipt. It’d be when he least expects it. Hell, it’d be when they _audience_ least expects it. No one would see that coming! It’s brilliant, but I don’t think this schlock would go that route. It seems too light-hearted for it to do so, with the cheap humor and all.

_“Did he kiss anyone yet?”_

I hear him talking beside me, but my attention is on the turn of events unfolding. They embrace each other in one of the sloppiest kisses I’d ever seen. What a disappointing let-down for my cynical ass.

I throw my hands around my mouth to amplify my disgust. “ _Boooo!_ Love is _dead!_ ”

“Shut up!” The Vega brat is crying. “It’s _beautiful!_ ”

“No, _you_ shut up!”

I look to my friend and breathe out a laugh. As the credits start to roll, I see all the members of the cast. I’m sure they’re… very lovely people. Not great actors, but lovely people. I hear rustling beside me, and I’m not about to let this guy walk out when the film’s not finished yet. I quickly grab his shirt and pull him back down. My grip’s a lot harder than I think it is, but it irks me when people do this. The teens have already left, of course.

“Oh no, you don’t,” I mutter to him. “Hundreds of people worked very hard to make this film happen, and you’re going to sit here and appreciate them.”

He looks startled and confused as he gives me an affirmative response, but I intend to prove a serious point. I lean back, my feet coming down from off the chair in front of me.

“See, look at that. Elizabeth Shelton,” I murmur. “She worked really hard. I bet she did lots of good… uh…” I hesitate while trying to read the tiny font. “Wardrobe design. Thank you, Elizabeth Shelton, for this beautiful film-going experience. And…” God, they make these scrolls tinier and faster every year. “Peter Anders. Catering. Fed a bunch of people so that they could have the energy to do their job. What a guy!”

The credits are still rolling, and I’m just grateful that there were so many people working on the lighting. I bet the interior scenes looked incredible. They all deserve a pat on the back for all the work that they do. They’re the reason why film’s still an incredible art form.

I’m almost done with my wine bottle by the time we’re getting towards the end of the credit scroll.

“And… Oh, thank goodness,” I sigh in relief. “‘No animals were harmed in the making of this film.’ That’s great to hear.” I get up from my seat. “Alright, let’s roll, chief.”

He stumbles after me as we get out of the theater. He guzzles the last of his own wine, and we stay within the alleyways back the way we came. Part of me wishes I could be a part of the movie-making process, but I gave up that dream decades ago. Besides, it’s fun to watch the finished product. I bet people working on it get tired from seeing all the same scenes over and over again during the editing process.

“Hey, _assholes!_ ”

By the time I register where that punk’s voice came from, my friend’s doubling over while holding his knee. Seems he got a rock thrown at it. He grunts in pain, and I watch that Vega kid and his friends saunter over to us. All talk, but no real bite.

“Oh,” I groan, “what do you want?”

“Why’d you go and throw a rock at my knee?!” my friend’s then shouting. “This is my good knee! My orthopedist is gonna be pissed!”

God, he is such a dad. It’s cute.

As Ernest tosses another rock in his hands, he gives us the most intimidating scowl he can muster. And by intimidating, I mean not at all.

“You ruined my theater-going experience,” he growls. “Now, you have to pay!”

“Oh, well…” He’s fishing through his pockets in vain. “I don’t have any cash on me right now, and like… movies got really expensive—”

He’s cut off trying to dodge the next rock chucked at his knee. This time, he misses, but my friend’s starting to look a little strained.

“ _We_ ruined it for you?” I scoff. “That movie was pretty crappy in the first place.”

“Hey!” Vega brat gasps. “You take that back! That was a beautiful love story with really genuine acting!”

“You call _that_ acting?” I start to laugh. I can’t believe this kid! “What classicist mainstream slop have you been served your entire life?”

He looks dumbfounded. “What?”

I cross my arms, still baffled by how little he asks for in entertainment. “Have you ever seen any Michael Powell?” He still looks confused. “… _A Matter of Life and Death?_ 1946?” It’s not clicking in his head at all. “Easily the toughest five minutes of love you’ll ever witness!”

“Listen, man—”

“No, _you_ listen!” It’s the alcohol talking, I think. I tend to be a bit more of a die-hard when it comes to film when I’m drunk. “That popcorn-ass drivel the mass media is shoving down your throat will only make you dumber and sadder! _You_ of all people should strive for a higher standard in the art you consume. Your name is _Ernest Hemingway,_ for chrissakes!”

The Vega kid stiffens up, and as his scowl turns angrier he clenches his fists. “Oh, _now you’ve done it!_ ”

He starts to let out this obnoxious caterwaul, coming at me in full force. I don’t intend to do much to hurt the kid—maybe just block his hits and eventually shoo him away by telling him a story that intends to spook him.

But then the poor bastard comes in between us to defend me. I don’t have much time to feel surprised that someone actually _wants_ to protect me. Ernest kills that dead in its tracks when he takes that opportunity to kick him in the knee with full force.

He’s a man down, clutching his knee that’s already suffered enough abuse tonight.

“ _Fuck!_ ” he cries. “My _knee!_ ”

My blood begins to boil. This snot-nosed punk needs to be taught a lesson. Time to strike fear into his heart. I move closer to him and square up.

“Alright, buddy,” I seethe. “If you talk like a punk, you’re gonna get hit like a punk!” My fists clench while I’m in my stance. “Queensbury rules. Three-minute rounds with one-minute rests in between. No low blows, fish hooks, J grabs, or high blows!”

“What?” Ernest’s eyes widen.

“And don’t even think about pulling an illegal turnstile! That’s an automatic deduction of three points.”

He blinks and starts to move back, but while he’s hesitating, I continue to tell him the rules.

“You’ll have to designate a second if you’re unable to fulfill your role as the main duelist. One of your friends over there looks like he has enough youthful vivacity to handle it!”

I gesture right to the friend in question, and he’s starting to back away towards the exit out of the alleyways.

“Hey, man,” he stammers while raising his hands up in surrender, “I don’t wanna get dragged into this. That movie sucked.”

“It’s too late,” I proclaim. “You two are blood bound. If he dies, you die. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. Talk to Queensbury.”

All of them are backing away now. The Vega punk doesn’t look as scared anymore, but he’s intimidated enough to get the message that I mean business.

“We’re just… gonna go,” he mumbles before they start backing away towards the exit.

I continue to give them a scowl. “The Queensbury Association will hear about this!” Then I hear their footfalls quickening as they run once out of my sight. “A-and consume better content!”

For the thousandth time in my life, I thank god that I never had the displeasure of raising a son.

I turn to my fallen friend after they’d left to make sure he’s alright. Poor soldier. This old fart’s gonna feel it tomorrow, I’m sure.

“Were you about to actually fight that kid?” he croaks.

“Are you kidding me?” I scoff. “I would never hit a child. That would be despicable. You throw the rules at ‘em, though, they always bolt. Nobody wants a Queensbury-sanctioned throw down.”

He nods slowly, and I kneel to his level and offer him my hand to help him up. I lean in close and give him a cheeky smile.

“But full disclosure,” I whisper, “I made half of that up.”

“Wow.” That makes him laugh while he relaxes, and he takes my hand.

“See, you don’t even have to know the rules,” I insist as I help him up to his feet. “You just make ‘em up.” We both go to the dumpster where we threw out pizza plates out earlier and toss the empty bottles in it. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.”

I help keep him propped up as he starts to limp, holding him from his middle while he stumbles. He has this jaded, glazed glint in his eyes, and it makes me wonder if he’ll even remember half of our adventure tomorrow. I’m hoping that he still will. This has been a lot of fun.

I start to think about my fight with the Vega kid earlier, and I wonder if it makes me come off as too aggressive. I haven’t really been giving my new friend the best first impressions of myself.

“Look… I’m so sorry. I get really into the art of filmmaking when I drink.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assures me and shrugs. “I think it’s cool how much you like movies.”

I divert my gaze from him briefly. God. Dammit, God! That bastard up in the sky is laughing at how embarrassed I almost immediately get by receiving a _compliment_ from this decent human being.

He chuckles beside me while we start to lean on each other. “To be honest, I don’t know a lot about them myself.”

My eyes widen, and I feel this sudden spark as I turn to him. “Buddy, I got so much to show you. Have you ever seen Sam Fuller?”

“I haven’t,” he admits with a sigh.

I pat his shoulder as we help each other get up onto the sidewalk. “Fuller is cash, chief.”

My mind trails off as I look up at the stars. There’s still some glistening in the sky, despite the mild pollution of light illuminating from the street lamps around Maple Bay. And then I look towards the moon. Maybe I’m just seeing double the actual amount of stars tonight, because I’m sure Earth doesn’t have two moons orbiting around it.

“Hey, Robert?”

I have to tear my gaze away from the night sky as I turn to him. “Yeah?”

He gives me a crooked smile as he slurs. “Thanks for the adventure.”

I mirror his grin as he officially regains his footing. I let go of him, and he has this gentle sway. However, I think he’s gonna be fine once we start moving.

“Adventure is all I got, buddy.”

I throw my arm around his shoulder, and we continue stumbling down the sidewalk together. From a distance, I’m sure we just look a jumbled, drunken mess. We both start to sing together, and thank god he has a decent music taste.

“ _Don’t go ‘round tonight!”_ He has the worst singing voice in music history, but I see his musical talent’s all in the lips. He’s got horn lips. Probably was in a Ska band.

I laugh as I nearly fall over on a raised portion of the sidewalk. We’re both a mess of giggles, and I hurry to take a gulp of air to belt out the next set of lyrics in time. “ _It’s bound to take your life!”_

“Oh boy, you bet it is!” he slurs in between.

We’re reaching the cul-de-sac, after what seems like an eon. We’re just about to finish the greatest live concert ever in the history of anything.

“Wait, shhh,” I grin. “Together, real loud!”

He nods with a wide smile, and we’re right near my driveway as we wheeze out the deepest breaths we can muster.

_“THEEEEEEERRE’S A BAAAAD MOOOON ON THE RIIIIIIISE!”_

We both laugh out, drunk and wild. I’m almost disappointed that the night is over, but it’s been fun while it lasted. We both struggle briefly for air, overexerted by our brilliant performance.

 _“Good night, Maple Bay!”_ I cry out, and I’m sure I can hear a disgruntled shout a few houses down. I don’t give a fuck.

“That was,” he wheezes for a few beats, “an interesting night.”

I give him a smile that doesn’t feel as forced as I’d thought my other ones earlier tonight were. “I liked it.”

He grins while I move up to my doorstep further. “Yeah, me too.”

I look to him. I’m starting to get used to the friendly expression he’s giving me, even if he’s drunk. “Let’s hang again soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He starts to sway a bit more, and I’m worried that he’s quickly going to get more acquainted with the porch. I clasp his shoulder to help keep him upright. He starts to get back into focus.

“’Night, bud,” I hum and make my way inside.

I leave him out there to see what he does. I look out the window beside the threshold and watch him stumble back to his own house, his lips moving but I have no clue what he’s trying to tell himself. The fact that he’s even going home at all instead of trying to chase after me is a wild concept.

I think I just made a true friend.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://tiff-the-little-wanderer.tumblr.com)  
> [writing blog](http://flutefluffwrites.tumblr.com)  
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/wandering_tiff)  
> .  
> .  
> .  
>  to answer your question, I am not that big of a fan of Hawaiian pizza.


End file.
